


Fic Requests & Deleted Scenes - The Uncomfortable Adventures of Sam in Law School

by TigerLilyNoh



Series: The Uncomfortable Adventures of Sam in Law School [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Anxiety, Bisexual Sam Winchester, Hunter culture, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Queer Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Stanford Student Sam Winchester, Student Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 04:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14609178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerLilyNoh/pseuds/TigerLilyNoh
Summary: This work is a collection of fic requests and deleted scenes set in The Uncomfortable Adventures of Sam in Law School AU.  As I complete fic requests or other additional content, I will post them in here as chapters.  You can comment with a request or message me on Tumblr @tigerlilynoh.The main story for The Uncomfortable Adventures of Sam in Law School will continue to be chapters of the previous work in this series, and that's where it will update.Needless to say, this will contain content that presumes you are current on The Uncomfortable Adventures of Sam in Law School.  With that said, I hope you enjoy it.





	Fic Requests & Deleted Scenes - The Uncomfortable Adventures of Sam in Law School

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I was wondering if I could perhaps request a fic let about Sam's very first month at Stanford.
> 
> Also, shout out to my beta reader, Lastarael, for making me look like I can form whole sentences.

It’d taken him four days of hitchhiking, hustling pool, and bus rides to get to California.  The journey had been slower than normal because he’d tried to avoid illicit shortcuts like pickpocketing people for funds or the like.  He’d gone so far as to take a can of lighter fluid with him when he left, then had a bonfire of his fake IDs and credit cards. From then on he was gonna live legitimately.  He might not have much money, but he’d come by it through legal, mundane means.

Sam walked through the hallway of his dormitory looking for his room.  Clutching his duffel bag to his side, he suddenly felt self-conscious. Everyone else seemed to have multiple suitcases or cardboard moving boxes, meanwhile everything he owned was contained in the bag he was holding.  Many of the students had their parents with them to help out and share the momentous event. Seeing one dad help carry his son’s boxes up a flight of stairs, Sam was struck painfully by his own lack of support. 

Telling his family that he was leaving had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.  His dad had yelled at him and called him a coward—said it would be his fault if anything happened to them because they wouldn’t have enough backup.  How could he be so selfish? He’d never amount to anything as a civilian, so why even bother wasting his and everyone else’s time.

When he’d attempted to pick up his duffel bag, John had pulled it from him, then thrown the bag across the room.  For a moment Sam had braced himself for a physical fight. His dad had even been armed, but didn’t bother drawing the knife from the sheath on his belt.  Sam hadn’t looked at Dean, who had silently watched everything from the far wall. Sam tried to ignore them both as he quickly collected his duffel bag from the ground, then walked out the door to his dad shouting for him to never come back.

Despite knowing that he’d done the right thing, he still cried several times a day.  He’d called Dean’s cell phone twice, though both times he was sent to voicemail. It hadn’t been his intention to completely sever ties with his family.  He’d figured that was a risk, but it had never been something he wanted. Distance and the freedom to figure himself out had been his dream, for as long as he could remember.  He was finally getting the chance, though the reality of his situation wasn’t nearly what he’d dreamt of as a kid. In reality decades of trauma and unhealthy relationships had a way of coloring even a fresh start in the form of a free ride at a top-tier university.

When he discovered that his dorm room wasn’t shared with another student, he decided to call it an early night thanks to his emotional exhaustion and lack of boxes to unpack.  He slipped his protection charm into the bottom of his pillowcase, then knelt beside the bed to pray. His upbringing had been a strange mixture of nondescript Christian and traditional Anglo-Greco hunter.  He’d pray to Artemis more often than he’d pray to God, but the Great Huntress almost exclusively received canned piety. When he really needed a little customized help he turned to God—though in that moment he felt like an apology was in order.

He withdrew a knife from his duffel, placed it on the top of the mattress directly in front of him, then rested his right hand on top of it.  The rite called for touching his favorite weapon, but he hadn’t been able to take his bow from the Impala before he’d left. The knife was the only weapon he still had, so it would have to do.  At least he tried. His dad never prayed before bed and on the rare occasion that Dean did the rite it was never done justice.

“I’m not sure if you can hear me anymore.”  He wasn’t sure if she ever had been able to.  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay in your service.  I need to find my place, wherever that is. From now on, that’s my hunt, my pursuit.  I hope you can forgive me.”

He wished someone would forgive him, that someone would tell him it was alright.  In his heart he felt like he’d made the right choice, but doubt whispered that he’d never be able to have the life of a civilian.  He pushed the unsettling thought aside, then continued to the standard prayer.

“Please give me strength and patience.  Give me the will to endure my trials and the mind to overcome them.  Protect me…” He pursed his lips in hesitation. “...and my family.” Before finishing, he added, “Please watch over me even when I’m lost… even when I don’t speak your name.  Please... remember me.”

Lying in bed, he stared up at the ceiling.  He would be waking up to stare at that same ceiling every morning for at least the next eight months.  The thought made him strangely frightened. It was so long. He’d never been anywhere that long. What if he couldn’t do it?  Maybe he was trapped by his upbringing? He’d never heard of any cradle-to-the-grave hunters retiring. In that moment it wouldn’t have surprised him to find out that people like him couldn’t cut civilian life.

He got up from the bed, took his desk chair, and wedged it under the doorknob to secure the door.  Then he moved his pillow and a blanket onto the floor in the corner, so that he could see both the door and the window.  He curled up with his knife by his pillow, ready to grab in an emergency. His first night on campus, he fell asleep on the floor, crying into his pillow.  It took him three nights before he tried sleeping in the bed.

* * *

Adjusting to his new life was harder than he’d anticipated.  He knew it’d be emotionally difficult, that being apart from his family and the hunter lifestyle for the first time would be difficult on top of all the assorted trauma he wasn’t yet prepared to look at head-on.  But he hadn’t foreseen several other challenges. Thanks to having spent his childhood living on the road, traveling from hunt to hunt, he had certain disadvantages—socially and financially, many of which hadn’t even occurred to him as issues.

Social anxiety hadn’t really been on his radar as a problem that he might have.  For years he’d been used to putting on a false smile and playing various roles in order to help with witnesses on a hunt, or maybe just to work a hustle.  He could be charismatic when it came right down to it, but there had been a sort of comfort in knowing it was all fake and insulated from his actual life. But now he wasn’t playing a part; this was his life.  He felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable to others’ judgment in a way that he’d only ever felt at hunter gatherings.

The first morning at the dormitory he decided to take a shower.  He hadn’t bathed since leaving his family and was in desperate need of self-care.  His skin felt oily even if it didn’t look too bad and no matter how many times he’d washed his hands he still had a sneaking suspicion that there was dried blood somewhere on him, even if no longer under his nails.

He walked to the co-ed bathroom with a towel that he’d stolen from a motel room.  He was wearing full-length pants and his hoodie. A few people glanced at him in his state of ample dress while he waited for a free shower stall.  Everyone else was wearing minimal pajamas, shorts, swimsuits, or maybe even just a strategically wrapped towel. Some students whispered to each other, though he couldn’t tell if it was his imagination that they were talking about him.

The fact of the matter was that he didn’t want anyone to see him with his shirt off.  Large bruises covered his shoulder, torso, and upper legs. Worse, there were still two dozen stitches holding him together below his left arm.  He had no good explanation for them and dreaded the thought of what gossip might grow out of it being seen. Slipping fully dressed into the shower stall, he pulled the curtain, took off his clothes, and examined the injuries.  With a little luck they’d be the last scars to mark his body. 

After hanging up his clothes as best he could so they wouldn’t get wet, he began washing himself.  He could hear a man in a neighboring shower singing classic Motown. He’d never heard someone singing in the shower before—he couldn’t even remember hearing someone singing in person at all.  As unusual as it was, it was kind of charming to know that somebody was comfortable and happy. He let the warm water pour over him, washing away as much of the unpleasantness of his past as it could.  For a moment it was deeply soothing… until his pants fell off their hook and were soaked. He picked up the soggy jeans, then checked his injuries again and wondered how much longer he’d need to keep covering up on the way to and from the shower.

* * *

The fourth day brought with it Sam’s first public embarrassment of his college career and the subsequent breakdown.  He’d been in the student union buying some lunch when another student had accidentally bumped into him. The recently-buffed floor and sudden impact caused them both to slip and fall down, spilling Sam’s plate of food and costing him a precious, scholarship-sponsored meal.  The scene drew the attention of a few dozen bystanders. The sudden motion had torn one of his stitches, causing Sam to clutch his side. Two people went to help him up, but the combined pain and embarrassment triggered his memories from his youth, inducing an anxiety attack.  So when they grabbed him to help him up, he panicked.

Their hands on him reminded him of the way his dad used to grab him and shove him around.  Just a few days before leaving, he’d been slammed into a wall while being yelled at for taking so long to finish off the last werewolf they’d been fighting.  The impact had made the fresh slashing wound on his side sting and dribble blood. Their dad had instructed Dean not to help suture the injury—Sam would have to deal with the consequences of his poor performance and could stitch himself up in front of the bathroom mirror.  It’d taken an hour and all the willpower he had to get through all twenty-four stitches before he drank himself numb.

Sam pulled away from the students and their bizarre attempt to help him.  He scrambled across the floor, then ran out of the student union clutching his ribs.  When he got back to his room, he locked the door and propped the chair against it before sitting on the floor in the corner.  There was a little blood on his shirt… one of only six that he owned. He took it off to examine the damage. The injury hadn’t opened up too much and he wasn’t sure how to even do anything about it without a first aid kit.  So he settled for stealing an unopened box of tissues and a roll of duct tape from his floor’s janitorial closet and just cleaning up the mess until it stopped bleeding. After forty-five minutes, when the bleeding had essentially stopped, he covered the wound with tissues, then applied some duct tape to act as a bandage.  From then on, he’d take it easy. He’d avoid people touching him.

* * *

On the fifth day he was running low on clean clothes.  He decided to finally bite the bullet and go do some laundry.  With so little in the way of clothing, he was able to stuff it all in his duffel and carry it down to the dormitory lounge.  He found the RA playing on her laptop at a desk and approached her.

Once he’d caught her attention, he asked, “Do you know where the nearest laundromat is?”

“The laundry room is in the basement.”  The RA stared at the clear plastic baggie of quarters he was holding, then looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.  “You… uh, you know you don’t need to pay to wash clothes, right?”

Sam could feel his ears turning pink with embarrassment, but he didn’t want to admit that he’d never had access to such services for free outside of when he’d stayed at Bobby’s.  “Yeah, I was gonna get a soda.”

She gave a little shrug at the explanation, then went back to her game.  After a little searching he found the laundry room. It even had a supply rack full of detergents and cleaning products that were completely unattended.  He started his single load before sitting down by the machine. About ten minutes later, several students entered and complained to each other about having to do their own laundry.  It was hard for Sam to imagine who else might have previously done their laundry, if not them. When they were done starting their machines, they left. 

For a moment he furrowed his brow at the reckless abandonment of their clothes, then he realized that people there weren’t worried about someone stealing their stuff.  He was at an expensive private university. Most of the students were probably well off. If their clothes had ever been stolen at a laundromat, they’d probably just bought new ones—Hell, most of the students probably had had homes with washers and dryers in them.  He considered leaving his clothes to go do something else, just like any other student might do… but he wasn’t quite prepared to risk it yet. Maybe someday.

* * *

The stark financial contrast had struck again the next day while he was shopping for class supplies.  When he’d arrived on campus he’d had $512.75 in cash on him. That amount was intended to last until he could find a part-time job, though he’d given himself permission to play a little pool if he really needed the additional funds in the meantime.  Unfortunately, he’d overestimated both the number of pool halls in the area and the amount of free time that would be available. At that point his current savings were only $485.96, which had seemed like a lot… until he went to buy his course materials.

Sam stared at the $320 textbook.  It was over one thousand pages of pristinely curated knowledge complete with twenty detailed flowcharts and a fifty-page bibliography.  Unfortunately, its most prominent feature in his mind was the fact that it, along with the rest of his course materials, wasn’t covered by any of the handful of scholarships he’d cobbled together.  He flipped through the pages to see how densely written the text was in an attempt to guess how long the reading assignments might be. About two-thirds of the way through the book was the security sensor.  An old reflex reminded him that he could easily slip the sensor out of the book, then steal it. But he wasn’t that kind of person anymore—he’d always hated being that kind of person and he wouldn’t return to that sort of life.

“Excuse me,” he said to get the attention of a nearby employee.  “Is there some way to set up a payment plan or something?”

“Sorry, we don’t do that sort of thing.”

“How much are all of the required books together?” Sam asked as he handed over his course list, then followed her to one of the register computers.

“It looks like…”  The employee chewed her lip while totaling it up.  “$1,076.32 with tax.”

He stared at her, completely dumbfounded for a few seconds.  Those were just the necessary books and it was more than twice the amount of money that he had.  He could hurry and try to find a few less-savory ways of make some money, but even at his best that much would be hard to scrounge up over any less than a few days or a week.  He’d hoped to have his books in time for the first days of classes, which began in only two days. Not to mention, he needed to buy other supplies like pens and binders, since he didn’t own a laptop.

“How… how long do I have to buy them?” he asked, voice tinged with disappointment.  “I mean, if it takes me some time to get… things together—how long are you gonna keep them in stock?”

The bookstore employee’s eyes took in the handsewn  patching on the elbow of his hoodie, which he anxiously tried to cover.  She gestured for him to come a little closer, then leaned forward so that she could speak to him in a voice that was soft enough so that no one else would hear.

“Talk to your professors and ask them if older versions of the textbooks will work.  The library should have a few copies of older textbooks or you can try to buy them off past students.  Check the bulletin boards,” she suggested. “If you really do need the latest version, we should have them for another week.  And talk to financial aid. They might partially cover the books if you really need the help.”

He nodded at her words and his voice broke slightly when he eventually managed to say, “Thank you.”

* * *

When his medical insurance through the school became effective, he decided to finally take advantage of those services.  He’d of course been to a hospital before, but as far as he could remember it’d only been for a few trips to the emergency room when his or Dean’s injuries had been too severe for their dad to mend himself.  Though, they’d never left the ER in a typical fashion, instead having to sneak out before Child Protective Services were called or the bill was delivered. Despite having more legitimacy through the presence of coverage, he still opted to go to the dentist first as his small step into civilian wellness.

The receptionist at the dentist’s office handed him a clipboard full of intake forms, then gestured for him to take a seat in the waiting area.  Only a minute after sitting down and starting the paperwork, he got up to ask her a clarifying question. He’d never had insurance before and didn’t want to mess anything up.  Before fully returning to his seat, he spotted another unclear instruction and turned back to her. He ended up just standing at the counter while filling out the intake paperwork with her help.  

He felt profoundly embarrassed.  There he was having his hand held through basic medical forms while going to college for pre-law.  A few pieces of paper should’ve been the least of his problems. But he was an outsider trying to navigate a new system.  He tried to remind himself that he was a quick learner, and that the only way to learn was to tackle the unknown... even when it was disheartening.

At some point he’d make an appointment to see a doctor, but first he wanted to remove the remaining stitches from his side.  He didn’t know how to explain away such an obviously unprofessional attempt at treating a noteworthy injury. Technically he was eighteen and was free to make those sorts of poor decisions, but quite a few recent scars hinted at damage done while he was still a minor under his dad’s care.  He had no idea if John could get in trouble for it at that point, but he didn’t intend on testing his dad’s limits.

When the examination was done, Sam was informed that he had numerous cavities from a lifetime without trips to the dentist and that his teeth were severely damaged from grinding while he’d slept.  The dentist suggested that it might be related to stress and that the damage had probably been done over the course of several years. Repairing the damage would take multiple visits that would inevitably have to be spread out so that he could manage the $50 per visit copay.  In addition to that, at night he would have to wear a mouthguard to prevent the grinding until his anxiety improved. He would also need to use a retainer at night for several months or years in order to correct the alignment problems that had resulted from never having braces as a child.

That night before bed he popped in his temporary mouth guard.  He felt a bit silly about the fact that he’d soon be wearing a retainer, which was the sort of equipment he’d previously associated with kids.  But he was having to go through many of the basics that well-off civilians took for granted and got out of the way in their youth. Eventually, he’d have to go easier on himself.  All journeys had beginnings; it was okay for him to start there.

* * *

Classes started a week after he’d arrived.  Finding a new routine was profoundly welcome.  The predictability was something he could finally rely on and it was a distraction from his fears.  He’d always loved school as something to consume his mind— something other than worries about monsters or memories of his dad’s hurtful words.  School had been the place where he’d had his best chance at being himself. He’d even had his first kiss with a boy at school when he was in seventh grade.

In many ways college was different than he’d expected, in some ways for the better and others for the worse.  To his delight he could generally set his own challenge level through switching to harder classes, taking on a larger course load, or by doing extracurricular activities—granted he hadn’t attempted to join any clubs or the like.  The prospect of being surrounded by civilians that were his own age and working in close proximity to them was still a bit intimidating. He’d always been a bit socially awkward at school, not catching all of the pop culture references and being uncertain how to relate to other kids' mundane troubles.  

On the plus side, it seemed that in college generally other students were happy to leave him alone.  Despite the loneliness that gently nibbled at him through the days, and gnawed more prominently when he lay in bed with insomnia at night, he was grateful to be left alone.  He wasn’t sure how to make friends; he’d barely ever had a real one. The change from hunter life to student life had been too recent and traumatic for him to even begin analyzing how to make friends.  After a few weeks, when his nerves were a bit better, maybe he’d observe some of his classmates during the seminars and see if he could find someone who might share some sort of common ground with him. Then he could figure out a few topics to discuss and an introduction.  From there he’d have to wing it, but with his experience charming witnesses as someone else, surely he could figure out a way to be somewhat likeable as himself.

In the meantime, he was too vulnerable to risk more than a sentence or two of social interaction.  He could feel his undiagnosed anxiety manifesting in his trembling hands, pounding heart, and the painfully long, sleepless nights.  There was this terrible feeling that something was wrong and waiting to spring upon him—it was like he was perpetually caught in the moment just after entering a haunted building and hearing the door close behind him.  His senses were strained, searching for signs of danger, and he was ready to run or fight. On his sixth day of classes, the extent of his fear had hit him hard.

He’d stayed in the library to do all of his homework until close to midnight, but his sleep-deprived mind wasn’t thinking clearly enough to make any progress worthwhile.  When he was walking back to his dormitory he could hear sudden movement behind him. The slinking, scratching sound reminded him of something—undoubtedly a hunt. His mind started racing, trying to identify the sound, whatever was stalking him.  He reached into his bag and clutched his knife, but before he could turn around he heard snickering. The noise had been a couple making out against a wall and only of their shoes had slid on some gravel.

For a moment his fear had gotten the better of him and he’d nearly pulled a weapon.  He wasn’t chasing monsters anymore, and they shouldn’t be chasing him. The odds of him running into anything was so small that it was more dangerous for him to be armed than not, especially while he was struggling with his past trauma.  When he got back to his room, he put his knife away in his nightstand. As much as he felt naked without it, he wouldn’t carry it around with him anymore. 

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to deal with his fear.  What did civilians do with their fear? They didn’t have it as much—at least some of them.  He supposed some of the civilians could just call the police and rely on that to protect them.  Regardless of the fact that he was a white man, he’d never really felt like he’d had access to the protection of police before.  Even at school he’d always been armed, which could’ve easily gotten him into serious trouble. When he was out on a hunt, he was almost always breaking at least a handful of laws.  And even just being at a motel was problematic considering the illicit goods his family kept. He’d always been in incriminating circumstances. His dad had raised him to be wary of the police because if he wasn’t conning them like a top hunter, then they would catch him and either arrest or kill him.  Law enforcement couldn’t help him with his problems; growing up he’d known that. Whether that was still true or not, he felt it.

“You’re a civilian now,” Sam whispered to himself.  “You’re in their system…. You’re in the system.”

* * *

A week later, Sam was sitting against the base of a tree, enjoying its shade and reading.  The temperate weather was such a welcome change from any number of other places where he’d spent his Augusts, baking in the unbearable heat.  He’d taken to studying outdoors whenever possible, outside of his claustrophobic dorm room and near the cheerful voices of follow students—near, but never close enough or in a posture that might invite interaction… or so he’d thought.

“Hey, big guy,” someone called in his direction, making Sam look up.  A group of four large, male students were approaching him. Three of them were dressed in vaguely athletic clothes prominently featuring the Stanford logo.   Aside from their overall aesthetic, the way they carried themselves and their overly confident demeanor screamed ‘jock,’ which wasn't inherently a problem….  Though he did feel some heartburn coming on.  “You new here?”

“Yeah,” he replied, unsure of what they wanted.  For whatever reason, the sight of them made him painfully aware that he was unarmed.  It was probably the fact that he was sitting on the ground and they’d, intentionally or not, positioned themselves to be standing over him, surrounding him with his back against a tree.  He tried to take a calming breath or two, but they weren’t really helping and it just made him worry that they would spot his fear.

“We’re holding tryouts for the football team.”  One of them pitched the idea. “You should swing by.”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested,” Sam replied with an attempt at a polite smile.  He looked back down at his book, but they didn’t leave.

“Have you ever played?” asked another one.

“A little, back in high school—“  It had just been for a few weeks during a physical education class, but the group didn’t give him a chance to finish his explanation.

“Come on.  Just try out.”

“I don’t want to,” Sam said more firmly than before.  “I have to focus on my classes.”

“We all take classes and play.  You can do both.”

“Listen, I’m just not interested.”

“You’re new, so maybe you don’t get what being on the team would mean for you.”  One of them grinned in an unsavory way, then boasted, “You have no idea how much pussy you can get—“

“I don’t care about….”  He couldn’t bring himself to talk about chasing pussy no matter how much using their vernacular might’ve helped him.  “I’m not interested in chasing women.”

He’d meant it in a more general way, expressing his disinterest in pursuing any sort of social excitement, but he realized that his words had missed the mark.  The four men all shifted uncomfortably, probably torn between their prior attempt to woo him and the thought that he might be attracted to them. In a particularly unwelcome moment, they all seemed to realize that their positioning had left Sam’s head at roughly the same level as their crotches.  The players took a half-step away from Sam, and took stances that bordered on defensive or hostile—almost as if he’d somehow entrapped them rather than them encircling him.

“Fag,” muttered one of the jocks.

Sam’s heart was pounding.  He wasn’t sure what to do. There hadn’t been anything inherently queer about his statement, but being incidentally outed was still being outed.  Though he wasn’t sure whether the slur had been more hyperbole and his visible embarrassment would be the thing that really gave him away. He was trying to compose himself, to recover enough to respond or even just to gather up his things and flee—though he wasn’t sure what he’d do if they started following him.  In theory he could take them in a fight, but that might’ve been the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t sure if he was willing to take a beating in order to pretend to be a civilian.

“Hey, assholes!” shouted a blonde guy standing a few yards away.  “He said no, so leave him alone. What are you, three-year olds or rapists?”

Being called rapists made the football players suddenly recoil even more.  There were enough scandals about college sports players committing sexual assault in the news that hurling that accusation had been a direct and effective hit.  The four guys all retreated from the tense situation to find someone else to solicit.

Sam realized he must’ve been visibly shaken by the encounter when his rescuer slowly approached him and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.  Thank you.”  

Sam rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to shake off as much of the adrenaline as he could.  Unfortunately, now that he could see the blonde guy better, his heart was pounding for a whole new reason. He was beautiful, with a lean build, messy hair, and intensely light blue eyes.  His clothes were fit jeans and a t-shirt that somehow managed to be a flattering cut. But despite the casual clothing, his watch and leather laptop bag hinted that he was at least somewhat well-off financially.  Sam hastily got to his feet so that he wasn’t staring up at the guy… or impulsively checking out his crotch.

“Sorry about those guys.”  The rescuer held out his hand to Sam, which he accepted in a quick shake.  “I’m Brady.”

“Sam,” he replied, thankfully minus any nervous squeak to his voice.  “Do you know them?”

“Those goons hassled me yesterday.  Well, I’m not as big as you, so they weren’t nearly as aggressive.”  Brady smiled. “What are you, 6’3”?”

“A bit over 6’4” last time I checked.”

“Wow, I bet you’re popular with the ladies.”

Sam made a non-commital noise.  Historically he hadn’t flirted with women much, except in front of his family when it seemed necessary to meet expectations.  It’s not that he didn’t find women attractive; he just liked men more and had more experience with them. 

Back before Stanford, he’d sneak off to gay bars whenever he was in a large enough city.  There he could relax without fear of his family finding him and that feeling of freedom had led to a lot of experimentation that had been almost entirely with men.  Upon arriving in the San Francisco Bay Area, he’d searched online for gay bars and was surprised to find that there were many more than he’d seen elsewhere in the country.  There was even a significantly LGBTA+ community in a neighborhood in San Francisco called the Castro. Someday he’d have to work up the nerve to visit.

“Well, maybe you’re just popular all around,” Brady amended after seeing Sam’s hesitation.

“Not quite….  I’m new around here, and uh,”  Sam chewed his lip a bit, unsure whether to say anymore.  “I’m not exactly good at talking with people.”

“So far you don’t seem to be doing too bad.  Maybe you just need a little practice?” When he didn’t immediately decline the invitation, Brady picked up Sam’s book and backpack from the ground, then handed it to him.  “Today is too important for you to be spending it studying.”

“What’s so special about today?” Sam asked, unsure of what major event he’d forgotten.

“It’s the day we met.”

* * *

They strolled around campus for almost three hours, then walked the short ways to downtown Palo Alto for a few more hours of aimless wandering.  Brady was probably the most charming person he’d ever met. That was the only explanation for how they could’ve talked so long. Sam had barely spoken to anyone for more than fifteen minutes at a time, but hours—he never would’ve imagined something like that.  Brady was also a freshman, focusing on chemical biology and pre-med, but he seemed to know everything about anything. And he made jokes. 

Sam didn’t know anyone who had that sort of lightheartedness.  The entire feel of their interaction was different than what he’d previously known.  There was such an ease to the whole thing, that when Brady hooked Sam’s arm in order to redirect them, the surprise contact hadn’t triggered any unpleasant memories or a mild panic attack.

“Come on, I know this great Thai place just down the street,” Brady explained as he pointed in the new direction of travel.

Sam stopped walking, slipping his limb free from Brady.  He couldn’t go out to dinner; he didn’t have enough money for that kind of indulgence.  His scholarship included an on-campus meal plan and that was what he had to live off of until he could find some source of income.  He was ashamed of his circumstances and didn’t want to let the lovely day end so soon, but he couldn’t just walk into a restaurant knowing that he couldn’t pay for his meal.

“I shouldn’t….”  He anxiously pulled away from Brady and held his arms to himself while avoiding looking his guide in the eyes.  “I mean, I can’t….”

“I’m driving you crazy, aren’t I?” Brady guessed.

“No, you’re not—anything but that.”  Sam gave him a reassuring smile. “I mean, I’d like to go get dinner with you.  It’s just I haven’t gotten a job yet and with books and everything....”

Brady just stared at him for a second, processing the fact that his invitation was being declined over finances.  Sam could feel himself turning pink.

“It’s my treat,” Brady offered, then added after seeing Sam’s discomfort at the act of charity, “You can pay me some other time—we’ll figure something out.  Anyway, I don’t have anything else to do. You’re really doing me a favor by keeping me company.”

“You seem like the kind of guy that doesn’t have a problem making friends,” Sam observed.

“I have high standards.”

“Then are you sure you want to have dinner with me?”

“Without a doubt.”

Sam continued blushing for reasons completely unrelated to embarrassment.  His mouth curled reflexively into a smile and he had to look at a ground for a moment.  He bashfully tried to redirect Brady’s attention away from his physical tells.

“I’ve never had Thai food.”

Brady’s bright blue eyes lit up.  “Well, now I need to take you to dinner.  Not knowing what pad thai is is just criminal.”

It was the best meal he could remember having.  Not only was the food delicious, the company continued to be enchanting.  At one point while they were chatting over dessert, their feet touched under the table and Brady’s fingertips delicately traced the rim of his wine glass.  The moment made Sam’s stomach knot in a strange new way that he enjoyed.

After dinner, they walked back to Sam’s dormitory, stopping in the hall, just outside of his room.  Brady moved a little closer, testing whether he would pull back or if there were any mixed signals. Sam felt a bit faint at the realization that that incredible guy in front of him might’ve been posturing for a kiss.  Brady candidly glanced down at Sam’s lips, then smiled slightly. Sam titled his head and leaned in a little, ready to convert the maneuver into a stretch if he’d accidentally misread the situation. But Brady took a half-step forward and kissed him.

Sam had never kissed another man so publicly before.  It was mildly terrifying, yet more than that it was thrilling.  He didn’t have to be scared of having his family find out, and despite the awkward interaction with the football players, the overall environment seemed more tolerant.  After all, Brady was more familiar with the area and he felt safe sharing a kiss where any number of other students might see. When Brady cupped the back of Sam’s head, their kiss became more passionate, making Sam grateful that all of his hunter paraphernalia was hidden and his bed was clear of weapons.  And, thankfully, he’d taken out his last stitches two days earlier. 

Brady reached into his pocket—almost certainly to check for a condom.  Sam was grateful. He hadn’t expected to need one so soon after moving and hadn’t yet located a Planned Parenthood where he could get some for free.  The whole outing with Brady had been great, though not what he was used to. A quick one night stand would be some welcome familiarity. But instead, Brady pulled out his cell phone.

“What’s your number?”

Sam stared at him for a moment, completely thrown by the question.  This guy wasn’t just trying to have sex with him. He wanted them to see each other again.  To Sam’s surprise, he realized that they’d gone on a date or something, and it might not be the only time they did it.  No one had ever asked for his phone number before. It took him a while to remember and recite it.

Brady immediately texted him, then said, “There.  You’ve got my number now too.” He gave Sam another, longer kiss before pulling back and smiling slyly at him.  “I’ll see you later.”

Sam went into his room, tossed his backpack onto the floor, then lay down in his bed.  His dick was partially hard and his whole body was shaking from nerves or adrenaline. A few tears ran down his cheeks—not tears of fear or sadness….  Okay, maybe a little fear. He had a thing for someone. More importantly, someone had a thing for him too. As startling as the development was, it was a good thing.  Things were finally beginning to get better.

His phone buzzed.  When he checked it there was a text message from Brady.  “Want to get breakfast tomorrow and compare our schedules?  I still need to pick out two more elective classes. Maybe we can take something together?”

“Sounds great,” Sam replied before starting to touch himself to the thought of the smart, beautiful man who wanted something more from him than just sex.


End file.
